


Future Tense

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Don't copy to another site, Headaches & Migraines, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Married Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Not Beta Read, POV Greg Lestrade, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, they have a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: An offer of early retirement has Greg thinking about his future. Coming home to a sleeping Mycroft, he explores different options. After all, Mycroft can't hear him, right?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 15
Kudos: 235





	Future Tense

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about this. I _really_ tried to recreate it here. Then the boys were like, 'hey, we'd like some sex too, thanks.' and here is the result. I'm sorry, I think?
> 
> Enjoy <3

Greg hums under his breath happily as he finishes up with the pile of paperwork on his desk. 

Sally already has given up on him as a lost cause, she’d asked him to the pub earlier but he had told her that Mycroft was coming back from the US this evening after a fortnight away trying to tame the dumpster fire that is American politics at the moment. 

_ Hey darlin’, you home yet? Should be there in less than an hour. Can’t wait to see you x _

He hasn’t even put down his phone when it rings, Mycroft’s caller ID on the screen. 

Greg can’t help his smile, “Hey darlin’-“ 

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispers, cutting across him before he can say more. Greg can hear the pain clear in Mycroft’s voice, and he’s immediately on high alert.

“Myc? What’s wrong? Are-“ 

“Apologies.” Mycroft keeps his voice low, “Migraine, a bad one.”

“Darlin’...” Greg breathes. 

“I know, my love.” Mycroft murmurs. “I’m just home, but I’ve taken the medication the migraine doctor prescribed, and you know how I get.”

“You’ll be out for the count in about five minutes.” 

“Yes.” Mycroft sighs, “I know you had dinner planned...”

“Hey, don’t start apologising. The only thing I care about is you feeling better. I’ll be home in around an hour, I know you’ll be asleep, but I’ll be there.” 

There’s a tired hum of acknowledgement in Greg’s ear and Greg’s chest aches. 

“I love you, Myc. I’ll be there when you wake.” 

“I love you too, Gregory. Until then...” 

“Sleep well, love.” Greg manages before Mycroft ends the call. 

Greg sits back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He worries about how much pain that phone call caused. Mycroft’s incredibly sensitive to any sort of light when he’s in the midst of a migraine. 

He’d cooked ratatouille for them, Mycroft’s favourite, but it was in the freezer so they could have it when Mycroft’s better. Greg picks up his pen and opens the second last form he needs to fill in so he can get home to Mycroft as soon as possible. 

Stuck in traffic, Greg reflects on his day. He’d had a meeting with his Chief superintendent concerning his retirement, still two or three years ahead of him, if he wanted. 

He’d been informed that he’s eligible for early retirement, the combination of his service years and rank had been the reason why he was flagged for a meeting. 

While not completely unexpected, he’d been given the option to go at the end of the year. 

He’s yet to give an answer, but he wants to discuss it with Mycroft.

The idea of retirement seems to have opened a Pandora’s box full of ideas of how to spend his retirement. Though there are some things that he’d never even mentioned in passing before. Then there’s the issue of Mycroft and when he’ll retire, if ever he wants to. 

Greg’s head is already spiralling with ‘what ifs’ by the time he reaches their home. 

The house already feels different when he walks inside. It’s warmer, less lonely in the knowledge that Mycroft is upstairs. 

Greg hangs his coat and slips out of his shoes before he’s greeted by an impatient meow from Teddy, who curls around his ankles and stares up at him expectantly. 

Teddy, a distinguished tuxedo of five years is their pride and joy. He’s a rescue from a shelter Mycroft has ties with. He was surrendered when he was two, and he was in the shelter barely a week before Mycroft became aware of him and came home to Greg with Teddy in his arms. 

“If you could talk, you’d be asking me where the fuck your dinner is, wouldn’t you?” Greg murmurs fondly, bending down to pick the cat up and carry him to the kitchen. 

“We should get you those buttons.” Greg continues as he fetches a tin of cat food from the press, Teddy still cradled in his arms. “All the rage, Sal keeps showing me videos of cats and dogs using them to speak. You’d be a natural.” 

A disgruntled meow is the only reply he gets until he puts the food bow on the ground and Teddy jumps from his arms. Greg smiles fondly at the cat, watching him for a second before downing a glass of water, intent to go see Mycroft. 

The bedroom door is closed over, and Greg eases it open and enters. 

There’s nothing but darkness; the blackout blinds are down and the curtains drawn. He can hear Mycroft’s even breathing coming from the bed and he can’t help but smile,  _ he’s here. _

Having Mycroft here, seeing him here seems to ease tension in Greg’s body that he’d been unaware he’s been carrying. 

Glad he can navigate their room in total darkness, he picks out pyjama bottoms from the drawer beside the bed and then leaves to go to their main bathroom. He never uses their en-suite when Mycroft is like this, because he knows even the light from that can be an issue. 

He showers and washes his teeth, eager to be with Mycroft again. 

Greg never sleeps as well without Mycroft beside him. 

Sometimes time zones can be forgiving, and Mycroft can talk him into sleep, voice warm in his ear. 

Others, like this trip, they’d only managed to have short conversations here and there. One long skype session was their only reprieve. 

So naturally, Greg is beyond delighted to have Mycroft home. 

Closing their door over behind him, Greg silently makes his way to their bed. 

“Darlin’.” Greg whispers as he gets under the covers. 

He’s never going to get over the way that even in sleep, Mycroft seeks him out. 

Mycroft murmurs something, but it’s completely incoherent and Greg can only smile fondly. Mycroft, who had been on his side facing away from Greg, turns in towards him, laying his head on Greg’s bare chest, a satisfied murmur that Greg still can’t understand, before his breathing evens out again. 

Greg can’t help but smile, can’t help the tears of happiness that sting his eyes. 

Laying on his back, with Mycroft warm and  _ there _ on his chest, Greg is content. 

His mind is still too active to sleep, he’d had a large coffee before he’d heard from Mycroft, so sleep is not going to arrive fast. 

He closes his eyes and listens to Mycroft’s breathing. 

“Been thinking about our future, Myc.” Greg whispers, unsure where the words come from. 

But once he’s started he may as well continue, right? 

Mycroft’s breathing doesn’t waver, and Greg is content in the knowledge that Mycroft isn’t actually hearing him. Maybe he can get his thoughts in order, have some idea of how to approach the topic in daylight. 

He presses a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s forehead in the dark, relaxing with the knowledge that they’re both safe here. 

“Been offered an early retirement package, Myc.” Greg whispers, “Don’t have to decide right now, but I could go at the end of the year.” 

Saying it out loud makes it real too, Greg shakes his head. 

“Always thought I’d work myself to death.” He confesses, “Or get killed on the job.” 

Mycroft’s breathing remains even, and Greg’s slightly taken aback with his honesty. He’s thought such things, but has never dared say them out loud. 

“But then you came along, darlin’. Walked into my life and made yourself at home. I...I don’t want to die at work, I want to retire with my husband.” Greg bites his lip, closing his eyes. “I want to grow old with you, Myc. Do everything.” 

He pauses, listens to Mycroft breathing for a few seconds. “Celebrate our silver wedding anniversary in the hotel we honeymooned in. See if we even get outside the bedroom this time.” Greg smiles fondly, memories of their suite in Paris that they never left for the whole honeymoon. Living off laughter and love, and room service. 

“Maybe we could take in more cats? Maybe a dog?” Greg muses, smiling at the thought. “Imagine if we took over that shelter you’re a patron of. Or we could start our own, out in the country, give them everything they need.” 

Greg hesitates, still needing courage to broach the subject even though Mycroft is sound asleep. “I know we mentioned it in passing a few times...but we could see if we could foster? Not animals, obviously.” He bites his lip. “We’d be too old for babies, I guess. I’ve just seen you with Rosie, and you’d be an amazing father. It’s something I never got the opportunity to do, but I’d do it with you. Only you.” Greg takes a few minutes to come to terms with the silence before he talks again, breathing with Mycroft, matching his breaths. 

  
  


Greg can't help but smile, conversations had been briefly touched on regarding children, but quickly dismissed. 

But still, there were possibilities out there.

"I know you think we're too old." Greg murmurs, voice fond. He remembers clearly the nights he spent with Mycroft as they babysat Rosie as a baby. 

Mycroft had been a natural, had brushed Greg's praise away. 

Every time she stayed with them, Greg was given a glimpse of what could have been had they found each other when they were younger, if they weren't both workaholics. 

"But fostering might be...something." Greg brushes his fingers through Mycroft's hair, and Mycroft shifts against him, a small whimper escapes. 

Greg's so attuned to that sound, he immediately kisses Mycroft's forehead "S'okay" he soothes, fingers against Mycroft's scalp. "No nightmares, I'm here, darlin'."

The sudden tension disappears from Mycroft and Greg follows. 

"Or" Greg murmurs, picking up his thread of thought, "We could move to a cottage beside the sea. Go skinny dipping at sunrise.” He almost laughs out loud at the idea. 

“Can you imagine? It’d be one way to wake up, I’ll give you that.” He smiles down at Mycroft, “Or we could spend every morning in bed, not get up until noon. Make love to each other every morning like we can never get enough of each other. Because I know I never will.” 

Greg breathes, “I’d marry you a thousand times over. You know that, yeah?” 

Greg pauses, listening to Mycroft breathe, “I love you so much, Myc. Sometimes I’m scared I don’t tell you enough.” 

Another confession here in the darkness. Between them both. 

“Part of me is always terrified that one of us won’t make it home at the end of the day….I don’t know how I’d cope to be honest. Without you. I never want to experience it. Maybe I say it a lot, but I love you, and no matter how many times I say it, it’ll never be enough.” 

Mycroft shifts in his arms, but settles almost immediately. 

Greg can’t help but kiss his forehead again. 

He’s warm from Mycroft’s body heat, but more deeply warmed by their love. 

When Greg yawns, it’s unexpected but he’s glad that sleep is not too far away now. 

He’s said so much tonight in the silence between them. 

Shared hopes and dreams, and he wonders how he’ll approach the topic in the light of day, wonders what Mycroft will have to say. 

“Just…” Greg murmurs, eyes closing despite his halfhearted efforts to keep them open. 

“I don’t care what happens, as long as I’m with you.” He smiles. “Whether we have our own colony of cats, a bunch of children, or if we’re just those disturbing elderly nudists that terrorise a beach daily. As long as it’s with you, it’ll be everything I’ve ever wanted. Love you, darlin’, can’t wait to see you in the morning.” Greg sighs happily, feeling lighter than he did yesterday. 

He breathes in Mycroft’s familiar and comforting scent, falling asleep with Mycroft in his arms. 

* * *

Greg wakes slowly, there’s a little more light in the room now. Mycroft’s head rests on his shoulder, his slender fingers trailing through Greg’s chest hair. 

_ He’s awake! _

Greg’s sleep-muddled realisation must come with a noticeable change in his heart rate, because Mycroft’s hand glides across his chest to rest over his heart. 

“Darlin’.” Greg breathes, “How’re you feeling?” 

Mycroft makes a noncommittal murmur. "Still sensitive, but the pain is gone." 

“That’s something at least.” Greg caresses Mycroft’s cheek. “C’mere,” He whispers. “Wanna see your face, kiss you. It’s been two weeks.”

When Mycroft raises his head, Greg’s heart soars in his chest. 

Mycroft’s cheeks are red with blush, his hair in sleep-mussed disarray. His grey eyes search out Greg’s. 

Greg can’t help the audible intake of breath that escapes him. “Christ, Myc. I adore you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

Mycroft’s blush deepens, but he closes the distance between them easily. Greg can feel Mycroft smile against his lips and he cradles Mycroft’s face in his hands. 

“Love you, darlin’.” Greg whispers into the kiss. 

Mycroft moves back, amusement dancing in his eyes in response to Greg’s whimper. He’s smiling that smile that’s only for Greg and Greg’s so happy he could cry. 

Mycroft studies his face, then pulls Greg down on top of him. 

“ _ Myc _ !” Greg gasps in surprise, both at the sudden movement and the reminder of Mycroft’s strength. 

“I love you too, Gregory.” Mycroft murmurs, voice still slightly rough with sleep. His fingers brush through Greg’s hair, silently asking Greg to lean in for another kiss. 

Greg trails kisses down Mycroft’s chest, his pyjama top quickly opened (without damaging the buttons this time, thankyouverymuch) and discarded off the side of the bed. 

Mycroft’s hands are in his hair, and Greg glances up at Mycroft through his eyelashes, and can’t help the rush of satisfaction that curls with arousal as he meets Mycroft’s heavy lidded eyes, pupils nearly erasing the stormy grey. His teeth digging into his lower lip, pale skin varying in shades of pink. 

Mycroft looks like sex. Greg is so lucky. 

Greg’s fingers caress Mycroft’s bare skin, thumbs brushing over nipples, tongue tracing constellations of freckles. 

He’s made it his goal to worship Mycroft like this, to show him how much he was missed. 

When Greg presses his hand over the erection in Mycroft’s pants that has him salivating, Mycroft’s resulting moan only makes it so, so much sweeter. 

“ _ Please _ .” Mycroft breathes, blunt nails pressing against Greg’s scalp. 

Greg slides his hand into Mycroft’s boxers, taking him in hand with relish. “What do you need, love?” He whispers, perfectly happy with the myriad of scenarios that his mind offers. 

Mycroft has to close his eyes and take a steadying breath as Greg rids him of his pyjamas and boxers, fingers tightening in Greg’s hair almost painfully. 

Greg slowly and deliberately licks up the underside of Mycroft’s cock, eyes wide open focussed on the man under him. 

Mycroft gasps, shuddering, his lips red from how he’s been biting them. They look so kissable, Greg thinks, and immediately makes his way back to Mycroft’s mouth, intently kissing him while he waits for Mycroft’s answer. 

He sinks into a comfortable, scorching kiss as Mycroft pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around Greg. 

When they break for breath, Mycroft stares up at Greg, “Need your mouth, please.” He murmurs, clinging onto Greg. 

Greg grins, leaning in to kiss Mycroft again before moving down his body again. Cherishing every millimeter of skin. 

Greg loves Mycroft, knows Mycroft’s body and exactly what Mycroft wants. 

He ignores his own arousal, settling between Mycroft’s spread thighs. 

There’s a little burst of friction between him and the bedsheets, but he refocuses on Mycroft immediately. 

“I’ve got you, darlin’. Always.” Greg breathes, his mind returning to all the possibilities in their future that he’d confided in his sleeping husband. He meant every one of them. 

One of Mycroft’s hands seeks out Greg’s, and he sighs in relief when Greg intertwines their fingers. 

Mycroft’s moan when Greg takes him into his mouth, the hand that’s not holding Mycroft’s around the base of Mycroft’s cock feels like it’s capable of granting Greg years of life, makes him almost painfully aware of his own arousal for a few seconds, before all he knows is the familiar taste of Mycroft, before he could drown happily in the noises Mycroft is making, by the way that Mycroft squeezes his hand, how Mycroft’s other hand is curled in the bedsheets. 

How when Greg gazes up at the other man, he sees Mycroft’s face full of ecstasy. 

_ This, _ he thinks,  _ this forever.  _

It only takes a few strokes of Mycroft’s hand to get Greg off, kissing him so firmly and intently that Greg ends up moaning into the kiss, not even attempting to take a second to breathe. 

It’s Greg that lays his head on Mycroft’s chest this time. He closes his eyes, content. 

His fingers softly trailing across Mycroft’s stomach. 

It’s their precious few moments together before making the herculean effort of getting up to shower with each other. 

Mycroft’s fingers are in Greg’s hair again, this time gentle. 

Mycroft takes a breath, and Greg smiles, knowing that Mycroft is debating saying something. 

Greg waits, he has all the time in the world. 

“While I would certainly agree with not rising until noon so we can spend every morning having sex, I will draw the line at us becomming elderly nudists.” Mycroft’s voice is soft, tentative. 

When Greg tenses, Mycroft gently caresses Greg’s cheek, waiting for the tension to ease from his body. 

“Everything else is up for discussion. Though I’m partial to a colony of cats if we’re being completely honest with each other.” Greg can hear the smile in Mycroft’s voice, hear the note of teasing. 

“You heard everything?” He whispers, heart racing. 

“Mhm, I believe so.” 

Greg shifts so that he can meet Mycroft’s eyes. Mycroft’s waiting for him, the softest smile on his face, eyes searching and fond beyond belief. 

“I meant it.” Greg breathes, “Anything with you. Doesn’t matter what, just only you. Forever.” 

Greg sees the tears that sting his own eyes mirrored in Mycroft’s, Mycroft’s hand rests on the nape of Greg’s neck. 

“Always.” He promises, pulling Greg into another kiss. 

Greg holds him close, grinning against Mycroft’s lips. 

_ Always. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 
> 
> twitter: @lostallsenseof1  
> tumblr: @lostallsenseofcontrol


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